


I Said No

by concertinal



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1449274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concertinal/pseuds/concertinal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because they can get married, it doesn't mean they will. </p>
<p>Written for Silver Fox Saturday: Well Groomed on Tumblr  in celebration of the first same-sex marriages in England and Wales. Eventually uploaded on here as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Said No

“No.”

Greg quickly looked up at the sudden, definite statement. It had been one of those evenings where he could very well have forgotten he didn’t live alone, Sherlock having been so quiet. “Hmm?” Greg’s eyes wandered back down to his laptop, picking up on the BBC news article where he’d left off moments ago.

“I said no.” Sherlock sounded firmer this time, and it was enough to make Lestrade slip off his reading glasses and look up properly.

“No _what_?”

Sherlock nodded his head towards the computer as he crossed the living room, biscuit tin hidden not-so-discretely just beneath his dressing gown. “I know what you’re thinking.”

For someone who _loved_ showing off how clever he was, getting Sherlock to share information could sometimes be like pulling teeth. Even the simplest of conversations could take long, pause-filled hours, with Sherlock’s replies mumbled and monosyllabic. After a long day trying to tease a confession out of suspects at work, it tested Greg’s patience to come home to much of the same.

Sherlock looked down, phone in the palm of his hand now. Just as Greg thought the topic had been dropped - and honestly, he really couldn’t be bothered to pursue it tonight, no matter how dearly he loved the other man - Sherlock spoke, quoting the same article as the one on Greg’s screen.

“ _Same-sex couples will be allowed to legally marry in England and Wales for the first time from midnight on 29 March 2014,_ ” he read, mouth half full of digestive biscuit. “ _It is estimated that there will be 6,000 same-sex marriages every year._ ”

Setting his laptop on the floor by his feet, Greg leaned forwards, elbows resting on his knees. Was this part of the same conversation or was Sherlock going off on a completely different thread?

“Just because we _can_ get married, it doesn’t mean I want to.”

“Hang on,” Greg said, sounding more defensive than he’d have liked. He hadn’t proposed to Sherlock, but he’d have been lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind with all the news coverage of the change in legislation. “Who said anything about getting married?”

Unexpectedly, Greg felt his stomach clench in disappointment. Perhaps it was obvious that Sherlock wasn’t ‘marriage material’ (if such a thing existed) but there was no need for this little demonstration. Sherlock was his lover, boyfriend, consulting detective, sunshine – amongst countless other things – and Greg had the right to be hurt.

He exhaled sharply through his nostrils, face settling into a definite frown. “And what’s so bad about the idea?”

Sherlock, either oblivious or indifferent to Greg’s annoyance, began to rattle off an answer as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “42 percent of all marriages end in divorce, and that statistic is even higher amongst men remarrying after a previous divorce.”

“Oi!” The comment bristled Greg, but Sherlock wasn’t to be interrupted.

“The cost of an average wedding is almost £22,000, with the majority of people inviting at least ninety guests. That’s ninety people who you probably don’t really like and you’re required to endure their company for an entire day, despite the fact that they more than likely only attended for the open bar in the first place.” Sherlock made a brief pause, taking a deep breath to allow him to continue with these statistics he was pulling from who-knew-where. “Over half of couples don’t consummate their marriage on their wedding night, and one tenth of them don’t even sleep in the same room that night because the stress of the whole situation has led to a domestic at the reception. And that’s for traditional marriage; you can bet things would be undoubtedly worse with a same-sex marriage. Twenty percent of people have already said they wouldn’t attend a wedding between two men.”

Greg stared, the figures bouncing around his head as Sherlock finally fell silent. He wasn’t sure, but it was probably all true. Sherlock wasn’t the type to make facts up to suit his argument, whereas Greg would quite happily stretch and exaggerate matters to get his point across.

“They’re just excuses,” Greg shot back, his voice raising now. Nothing Sherlock had mentioned was a legitimate reason not to get married. “They’re not…they don’t mean anything to us. If the idea of marr-”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Sherlock interrupted, punctuating it with a long, dramatic eye-roll. “If the problem lay with us, I certainly wouldn’t avoid saying so just to spare _your_ feelings.”

Greg could see from Sherlock’s face that it hadn’t been meant maliciously, but it still didn’t sit right. Perhaps it was the tone with which that sentence had been delivered, or perhaps it was the words themselves.

Whatever it was, Greg didn’t give himself chance to figure it out before slamming the door on his way out of the room.

* * *

The conversation-slash-argument replayed itself more times that it was welcome to in Greg’s mind, despite not a single mention of it from either of them after that night. Every time he heard news of the big day, his continuing irritation completely overshadowed any genuine pride or delight he might otherwise have held for such a momentous occasion. In fact, the nearer Britain got to its first same-sex marriages, the more Greg’s mood plummeted and people were starting to notice.

Everyone, it seemed, except Sherlock, who seemed more than content to carry on as though their discussion had never taken place.

“Come on then, spill.” Sally was leaning in the doorway of Greg’s office. Hard working as ever, he ought to have expected she’d be here not long after seven in the morning too, even on a weekend. “It was ten before you finished up last night.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but Sally just pointed her finger. “Don’t deny it, I’ve read your logs. You’re avoiding him, aren’t you?” They’d still not reached a point where Sally was willing to say Sherlock’s name, but the feuding and the insults had stopped a long time ago, and Lestrade was grateful they’d both managed to put their differences aside for his sake. “I can completely sympathise with that.” She gave a small smile, standing up straight. “Speak of the devil. You’ve not called him in for this, have you?”

“No,” Greg muttered, shaking his head. “I haven’t.”

Nonetheless, Sherlock invited himself into the office and sat down without a word, waving his hand dismissively towards Sally. “A moment, if you don’t mind. Shut the door properly as you leave, Sergeant.”

Sally held her tongue, earning a respectful nod from Greg as she snatched a file from his desk and did as she was asked.

“What?”

Sherlock seemed affronted by Greg’s short tone, glancing towards the door as though considering walking straight back out. Sighing, Greg tried again, more softly this time.

“What do you want?” he asked, furrowing his brow as Sherlock pulled an envelope from his inside coat pocket and handed it over for Greg to flick through. “A bank statement and an electricity bill.” He slid them out of the envelope, along with both of their passports.

“Proof of identity,” Sherlock said simply.

Greg nodded, still confused even as he tipped the envelope up and two elegant gold bands fell onto his desk. He stared at them, and then at Sherlock, mouth agape.

“Is this…?”

Sherlock nodded. “Register Office at Hammersmith Town Hall, John and Mary said they’d be our witnesses. There’s a slot at ten o’clock, if you want it.”

Greg’s smile filled his entire face as he stood up, wrapping strong arms around Sherlock. “Of course I want it,” he exclaimed, squeezing his boyfriend (fiancé?) tightly until the shock wore off. “You’ve changed your tune.”

“I realised,” Sherlock began, quiet and uncertain and avoiding Greg’s eyes. “I realised that even when you’re practically ignoring me, I want to be around you more than anyone else.”

Greg’s heart swelled, and he pressed a small kiss to Sherlock’s forehead.

“If marriage is important to you, then it follows that I should consider it a priority of mine as well.” Sherlock earned another kiss with this statement; a long, affectionate brush of their lips, eventually giving way to something more passionate.

When they separated, both men were flushed and smiling, and Sherlock gave a pointed look towards the clock on the office wall. Greg understood immediately.

“Technically, we shouldn’t be seeing each other before the wedding,” Greg told Sherlock.

“Tradition?”

“Tradition,” he nodded. “But since it’s a bit late for that, why don’t we make a quick stop off at home before our appointment?”

There was no need to ask twice, Greg knew, and the couple were proudly hand-in-hand as they left the building. 


End file.
